


between

by kinpika



Series: spectre [5]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: First meeting with Shepard, Gen, Hard to be friends when you're on assignment, I'm sure they'll be great friends later, Post-Fehl Prime, Vega POV, With the person who is supposed to be your idol, pre-ME3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: “So… we gonna get to know each other?”“Nope.” Pops the ‘p’. “You got stuck with a shitty assignment, sorry.”“Not my first rodeo. Doubt you’ll be worse than a krogan.”With a snort, she’s the first one out the elevator. Quicker, shaking out that blue. “Not according to half of Tuchanka.”Anderson might have scrapped him off the floor of Omega, but Vega figured he could've at least had a heads up.
Relationships: Female Shepard & James Vega
Series: spectre [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738051
Kudos: 7





	between

First assignment right out of hell wasn’t going to be perfect.

Still nursing a hangover, he’s sure. New stitches, confined to the medbay until further notice. Doctor on board barely sends him another glance, and it’s fine. Vega was too busy staring up at the ceiling anyway. Trying to work it out.

How he ended up here — abroad the Normandy, with the illustrious captain nowhere in sight. Instead, Admiral Anderson, firm hand, kind voice. Or maybe it could have been the other way around. Shifting around the conversations, trying to work the pieces out. New assignment, back on Earth. Lockdown, for the next few months.

Not punishment, Anderson had said, for what had happened. Just that he was the best one for the job. Only one. Quite frankly Vega didn’t _get_ it, not in the slightest. All he got was the familiar feeling in his teeth, when they pull through a relay. Back molars, and he’s shuffling around the datapads, turning them off. Stacking them neatly.

Numbers and dates and times. Professionally done missions reports and sightings and other documents hijacked off the ship. Cerberus hadn’t purged _everything_. Anderson had found it strange, but still. Left Vega to sift through what was around, work out where everything was. Or will be.

Click of shoes. People walking past the windows. Odd glance his way, followed by aside whispers. Yeah, he was the one you picked up on Omega. _Keep walking_.

“Your injuries healed well.”

Man of the hour stands in the doorway. Hands clasped behind his back, as he takes those few more steps in, doctor skirting out behind him. One polite nod, and the shutters roll down. And then there was two.

“You still haven’t told me what this assignment is.”

Anderson gets an almost faraway look on his face, before he pulls it all back in. Offers something of a smile, Vega would have to guess out, but it looks strained. “I know. And I’m sorry for the secrecy. Needed to be sure that we would be allowed back in Sol without an escort.”

He could feel his face pull, tighten. “Don’t we have clearance? Didn’t the Alliance reclaim the Normandy?” This was the Normandy, right? Vega wasn’t sure if he actually had to ask that, aloud, just to make sure.

“A quick trip to Omega gets the Board nervous.”

Vega knew he was getting half a conversation. Closer to a third. No right to press for information, but he hands over some of the datapads. Can’t stop the words once they’re out. “Does this have something to do with Commander Shepard, sir?”

Psych reports taken during the apparent stint into the Omega 4 Relay. But they were scrubbed squeaky clean. Open and easy to read, but Vega wasn’t that fooled. Too altered, too normal. Anderson doesn’t even look at what he had been tasked with, laying them to the side with ease. Maybe he knew already. Maybe this was a test.

Had to be something. His only knowledge of or interactions with the Commander had been vids of interviews and maybe the odd salute in passing. Wide-eyed and perhaps a little amazed at just what she was capable of. Not that she would have even been aware of him being there, on the same station. Although, the more he thought about it, the more Vega realised. She hadn’t even had touched down in Alliance space in. Well, years.

Still that rumour about her being brought back to life, not just defecting. One that the Alliance had tried to stamp out.

“Commander Shepard handed herself over to Alliance authorities following what transpired in the Bahak system.” Professional, clipped. Straight from the press, coming in hot. Anderson takes a deep and shuddering sigh, sitting down at the desk. Fingers pressing into his temple, as he seems to. Judge. Jury. “I need your assistance in making Shepard not seem like a threat.” Executioner.

Clearing his throat, Vega tries to find how to word his statement nicely. “With all due respect, sir, I’m only one man. And from my understanding, she’s one helluva woman.”

“Shepard has always made a habit of… being that way. Galaxy was a darker place without her in it.” Mingling amount of pride and privacy then. Didn’t have to be some random civilian to know that the Admiral had a soft spot for the Commander. Rumours in the lower decks suggested he had practically adopted her out of bootcamp, keeping her on a very specific path.

Politely, Vega turned his eyes towards the ground. “Still don’t know why you need me for this job. Can’t one of her old crew help her out? Lieutenant Moreau? Doctor Chakwas? Or…” pause, scroll through the datapad next to him. “Uh, Commander Alenko?”

That earns Vega a very uncomfortable clearing of the throat, and Anderson shifts in his chair. “Major Alenko and Shepard haven’t spoken in a couple of years. Board thinks that both the former pilot and doctor of the Normandy would be susceptible to her influence.”

“Make her sound like she’s mind controlling them, there.”

He makes something of an affirmative noise. “Alliance may welcome biotics, but that doesn’t mean people still don’t harbour some suspicions.”

“So, I’m someone who hasn’t ever met her, unknown to her. That doesn’t make it sound like she’d trust me. I’ve seen the vids of her meeting mercs and I don’t want to be _anywhere_ near a window.”

To his surprise, Anderson laughs. It’s hidden behind a hand, but there. “I think she’d appreciate if you told her that yourself.”

Ah, yes. Joke about a Spectre — or Commander or whatever she felt like waking up as on that particular day — and her penchant for kicking people out of windows. Vega couldn’t see why that wouldn’t go down well, not at all. “Not that you’re giving me the option to turn this assignment down.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t have many other choices.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Clearing his throat, Vega has to ask the question. “What put me on the radar, sir?”

Vega doesn’t like mysteries. It’s what got him into trouble, six foot deep worth of shit that cost him more than he could take back. Muddled everything, made him forget there was a time of just being a simple marine, point and do. And Anderson looks almost concerned, almost amused, almost almost almost. This is why he didn’t play politician.

Dig his nails into his palm, form a fist. Squeeze real tight, and count to ten.

“We don’t have much time to get you reacclimated back to to Earth. Might as well get an hour in now before you’re in the deep end, Lieutenant.”

No wiggle room. No prior warning. Vega didn’t remember his uncle warning him about this kind of railroading, being forced into a corner with no alternative. Just slowly work up through the ranks. Maybe pull the odd heroic stint to earn you a medal, get you noticed by the right people. Or the wrong ones, Vega thinks. Offers a salute, as Anderson excuses himself. Like the last few months had just been singularly on track to all the wrong outcomes, and now here he was. Staring down at those damn datapads once more, Commander Shepard’s face staring back.

Vega gets in maybe ten minutes, with the remaining fifty left to let the information sink in once more. Rolling through it all, again and again and again. Until he could name every person who had perished on Akuze, and how many medals had been pinned to her chest while they shuffled her off after Torfan. Bundled up and saluted to.

Whole lotta crazy that Vega wasn’t sure how to approach. If only because these were the facts and the data, not the person. And in his personal experience, these things never lined up.

Touchdown, shuffled out. Passing salutes, from him, for him. For Anderson. Wading through the crowds and chatter. Finally returned the Normandy. Could get back to work. Machinery being hustled around the—

Vega looks up. Dock wasn’t quite the right word. Warehouse would almost be more appropriate. Didn’t remember this as part of the standard Alliance go to for arrivals. But the crew is off now, replaced by engineers and technicians and a whole lot of metal.

Strange times. Stranger still, when he’s led away, no backward looks given. Buildings and check-ins and Anderson signing off. Paperwork that Vega didn’t remember having to do. Bites down on the questions that want to come out, because that’s all he had. Didn’t even have the chance to cut and run, see you later. Even though it was just him, and Anderson, and maybe the vague detail of those walking behind, it was a one-way ticket.

And it was stamped, good to go, bundled into elevators and hallways. More salutes, more eyes that followed but didn’t question. Chatter that occasionally dropped, until it picked up at a level that was just a little too loud. Filling the space and the elephant in the room. Clicking his tongue, Vega could see the path he had just walked in his mind. Probably could get out later. Take the next shuttle out.

Stops himself. Like everything comes to a screeching halt, him, his mind, the world. Where he stares at his hands, like he had done since Fehl. And, and he thinks. Remembers. Uncle Emilio and where he was since then, what he could be doing. Deep breath. Reset. Catches up in four quick steps, rolling his shoulder.

Maybe he should write out this entire situation, send it to his uncle, see what he would think. Yeah, tell him about Fehl. About Treeya, the colony, and now how he was back on Earth, being saddled with the impossible. Vega could use some familiar perspective, because the floors were just a little too shiny, new. Metal cleaner than it should be for all the boots that trampled through. One too many guards on duty, looking just a little more nervous than they should as Anderson came into view.

Vega considers that even Emilio may not have some advice for this. “Did you build an entire area just for one person?” Can’t stop the words, however. Might not be running away, but that didn’t mean his mouth wasn’t.

With a look over his shoulder, Anderson stops in front of one door. “Repurposed this area. Originally some old offices.”

“This was all done for the Commander?”

Dark look, pursed lips. “They wanted to not give anyone the opportunity to do anything.” Textbook dismissal, but Anderson’s demeanour said it all. Nervous people in places of power often did stupid things. This was an example of it.

Hand against the door, his omni-tool lights up. Click, and push. Anderson doesn’t pause, making his way into what Vega assumed was a living area. Small. Comfortable. Odd amounts of thought put into it when Shepard was a highly classified prisoner. Datapads and screens littered the area, half empty packets of food and several mugs. A wonder no food was moulding, as they step in further.

They had even given her a balcony. Vega is halfway to a comment for that, when one of the doors opens.

And there she was. Commander Shepard, towel slung around her shoulders, hair longer than standard requirements. Barefoot, grey sweats and decidedly looking bored at the appearance of Anderson, not even a look passed his way.

“What now, Anderson?”

Rude, too. Snap to it, with a salute. Commander or not, Vega feels like he should. Yet Shepard makes a face at him, snapping the towel off, throwing it aside. “I have at least four hours to my next hearing, right? Or did they bring it forward again?”

“I’m not here for that, Shepard.”

“Uh huh.” Raising her brows, it’s clear she doesn’t believe him. Potters around them both, picking up mugs and the packets. “That’s what you said the other week… and then they brought it forward.”

Vega isn’t sure if he was supposed to help, or move out the way. So he settles for righting the water bottle by his feet, and hears her address him. Almost. “And you brought company along for…?”

“Commander, this is Lieutenant—”

“Not Alliance anymore, Anderson. No title. No salute.” That part was aimed at him, as he could feel himself going for it once more.

Don’t back down. Reports said she enjoyed some smart-assery and contest. Had to trust the psych reports, right? “Didn’t you earn a Star of Terra? You get salutes… ma’am.” Holds firm, as she looks him over.

“That’s a good point, actually. Did I keep my Star when I died, or is that just a nonissue?”

Anderson looks at her the way someone would, chiding an unruly child. Except Shepard doesn’t seem to notice, or care, righting pillows and folding blankets as she moved around the small living space. Shrugging off the disappointment with each step.

“This is Lieutenant James Vega, Shepard. He will be acting as your escort and go-between for Alliance communications.”

Looking just a little taken-aback, she finally sets her eyes on him directly. “I’m sorry you’ve been given a role of being a glorified babysitter, but I don’t need this right now, so—”

“Shepard, enough! We can discuss this later if you wish, but right now Hackett and I know this is in your best interest.”

“You don’t know what’s in my best interest, Anderson. If you did, I wouldn’t be grounded, and the Board wouldn’t be dragging this out for the next few months.”

Maybe the rumours weren’t wrong. Teetering the line of insubordination and an argument that was familiar in the familial, Vega keeps his eyes firmly planted on the corner of the ceiling regardless. Listing off what he could write to Emilio about, what he would need to buy. How the windows were just a fraction bigger than what he would’ve thought appropriate for a prisoner, giving someone interested enough the perfect angle.

One long moment, before Shepard puts a hand to her head. “Can you at least take the dampner off? Even for a few hours. I wanna go down to the shooting range, maybe hit some targets. I’m going out of my _fucking_ mind here.”

Anderson exhales, and Vega watches him nod, motion for her to turn around. Holds his hand up again, orange lighting up. Biotics weren’t unusual to Vega, but he guessed he was perhaps bordering on too casual for her. Like a light switch, on, off, testing it all out. Lifting a pillow before setting it back down. He didn’t jump; she just frowned.

“Back here in no more than two hours. We don’t need anything else to convince them that you’re going to escape.”

“Anderson, if I wanted to break out, I would’ve by now. Done it enough times, anyway.” A mumble added after, one that is politely ignored.

“And don’t say that out loud.”

It’s the look Anderson gives him that has him aware he is the one under scrutiny again. It asks, politely, _please forgive the insubordination_ , and leaves him in the presence of former Commander Shepard, utterly unapologetic. Pinching the bridge of her nose, as Anderson holds out his arm once more.

“I’ll have the remaining codes and schedules transferred to your omni-tool later, Vega. For now, this will give you access to this room, your own, and the training facilities in the lower levels.”

Done. Hands wiped almost clean, because there was still a look over the shoulder, as Shepard was distracted. Picking up her bag and a new towel, water bottle. Shoving it all in and ignoring how Anderson lingers, half step, out the door. Shake of his head and he’s gone by the time Vega pulls his hand down from the salute. When they’re in the hallway, he is all clipped and perfectly shined shoes in the other direction, leaving Vega to take those few steps backwards, watching him disappear around a corner.

“Don’t lag too far behind, they might arrest the both of us if you do.”

Shepard takes big strides. Longer legs, but with the way she’s dropped her shoulders, bag pulled tightly to her side, it was almost like she was on a mission. More than one other marine or clerk skittering out the way, as she makes it to the elevators, jamming the arrow with more force than necessary. Static, shake out her hand.

Vega had read about that. Politely, he keeps that comment to himself, arms crossed over his chest. Stepping to the side as others get out, while Shepard just walks in, against the back of the elevator in seconds.

“So… we gonna get to know each other?”

“Nope.” Pops the ‘p’. “You got stuck with a shitty assignment, sorry.”

“Not my first rodeo. Doubt you’ll be worse than a krogan.”

With a snort, she’s the first one out the elevator. Quicker, shaking out that blue. “Not according to half of Tuchanka.”

Pretty sure he read about that, on a report somewhere. Headbutts a krogan, goes in to fight a thresher maw, puts down a battlemaster, all within the space of a few hours. Still walking and talking, like it was nothing. Weaving through the crowds, leaving Vega to jog to keep up. Half a mind goes to wondering if someone was left to escort her before, the other to taking note cameras, those on duty. Salutes that waver as they’re still not sure. No one was, not anymore.

Humanity’s best and brightest, dropping her bag, pulling up the dials. Setting up holographic moving targets, glowing blue and angry. Vega takes a seat, stage left, to where the range opened up. Angled lights and cameras, Shepard bouncing on her toes. And he knows, he knows, what an awful way to be left behind. To have work invalidated and treated like you’re crazy.

Shepard slams into the first target, turns, finds the next. Simply a streak, flying left and right, while Vega didn’t try to keep up. Watched the timer and counter hanging overhead. They said there was one, in the base, where Shepard was drugged and where the relay was destroyed. Recovered armour footage had shown her looking at it a few times, in how she had run. Vega had only seen the stills, comments that were largely sealed, requiring the admission of an admiral.

They knew she wasn’t lying, but here they all still were. Earthbound.

“You don’t have to hang around.”

Out of breath, wiping her face with the towel, but still telling him where to go. Taking out ten targets in less than sixty seconds. Any other person would be impressed, but she’s switching up the dials again, inhaling energy bars. Stretching and lighting up. Ready, set,

“Yeah, sure, maybe… but you’re not my commanding officer. Not the Alliance, remember? I can do what I want with you around.”

A long pause that stretched out into the depths of maybe he just pushed his luck a little too much. Almost gave him reason to double back, salute, try to regain lost ground.

Except Shepard smiles, big and wide, the kind that was accompanied by laughter, when she looks over her shoulder. He doesn’t get the second note, almost, but he earns a slight nod in response. “You’re alright, Vega. Keep that attitude. Looks good on you.”

_Go._

And she’s off, again. Like a bullet. Head down, bringing across an arm, shield forming. Vega doesn’t know much, but he does know when someone was in a better mood. Letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, the tiniest amount of pressure lifted from his shoulders. Step one, accomplished. Bringing his leg up, ankle resting on his knee, he just had to figure this out for the next few months. No worries.

If anything, if anything, Vega tells himself it’s a distraction. Idle assignment, away from the rest of the universe. Away from Fehl Prime, away from Treeya, away from,

It all.

When Shepard returns to the beginning of the station, scowling at the results, he knows that this just might work, even for a little while. And he could be alright with that.


End file.
